Hello, Sunshine
by ah-li
Summary: Stories begin when the author decides they are convenient, even if the characters do not always agree. A collection of short stories with no guarantee of being finished, with America and England as the centerpieces.
1. Chapter 1

Something short. This will probably be a collection of unrelated one-shots because it's so small and sad with just seven hundred words. A/B/O although it didn't need to be.

Summary: Arthur Kirkland finds himself at a disagreement with the new vogue and the mass public indecency movement it spawned.

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Naked sunbathing was not an uncommon occurrence in his neighborhood as of late, much to the distress of one Arthur Kirkland, and he wasn't sure who to blame. It wasn't a purely American thing, he knew that much.

And it wasn't as if society had finally come to the point where all people could be comfortable and confident in their bodies without fear of ridicule; the dress code for omegas in school was still as strict as it had been since at least 1970.

But recent beauty trends had evolved to suit the twenty-first century: the outdoorsy, adventurous alpha and omega, all sporting enviable, athletic bodies. While the new advertisements showed people of all backgrounds, the one thing they had in common was that none of the models had pale skin. There were even "modern" alphas proudly claiming they didn't want some pale-skinned omega relic from ye olde days as a mate.

However, Arthur Kirkland was a beta whose summer colors were aristocrat pale and boiled lobster; thus, he felt nothing for this new craze beyond a vague sense of discomfort at the sight of so many people lounging about on their front lawns as naked as the day they were born, as spontaneously as mushrooms after a rain shower.

"You're shitting me," Arthur said disbelievingly as he arrived at Alfred's house only to find the alpha sprawled out in a tacky pink lawnchair. Naked. On the driveway and in plain view of anybody who cared to see. (And if the muted gossip he heard around the school held true, more than a few people did care. Too much.)

Alfred looked absolutely unapologetic even at the look of dismay and disappointment that was probably clearly written on Arthur's face – and it was the kind of obvious expression that shouldn't exist beyond the realm of writing. But then again, Alfred had always been incredibly, incredibly dense, which was probably why he still acted more like a puppy rather than the hormonal alpha he should have been at his age. Even Arthur had managed to get a date with a charming omega in his English Literature class before Alfred did, even with the reputation of betas as second-choices factored against him. Nature had clearly wasted her time putting so much effort into such a clueless moron.

He smiled sleepily up at Arthur, roused from what looked like a pleasant doze. "Oh hey, Arthur! What's up?"

"I can't believe you," Arthur hissed, completely ignoring Alfred's question. It wasn't the polite thing to do, but polite people didn't engage in public indecency. "It's bad enough that Francis feels the need to expose his pasty arse and cock in public, now you're doing it too? At least with Francis it's expected of him."

Alfred blinked. "Woah there dude, calm down. This is the twenty-first century, not Victorian England or wherever you come from, old man. It's totally fine!"

"It's public indecency! Which remind you, is still very much illegal," Arthur spat.

Alfred had the nerve to roll his eyes at him. "Nobody's been arrested yet, Artie. Calm down. If it were a problem someone would have called the cops or something. Nobody's gotten hurt either."

He flashed Arthur a mischievous grin, one eyebrow cocked in the arrogant manner of the typical alpha. Out of all times to finally show the typical signs-! "Plus, I'm not "pasty," as you implied," he said, rolling over slightly to flash Arthur parts he had no interest in seeing. It so disgusted him that he had trouble swallowing, and he quickly tore his eyes away from Alfred.

Arthur scoffed. "You're right, roasted's more like it. I hope you get a horrible sunburn there, it would serve you right. I don't have the time to drill basic decency through that thick skull of yours." He then spun on his heel and walked quickly back to his own house, decidedly not fleeing.

"Back already, bear?" His mother called from the office. "I thought you were planning on spending the afternoon with Alfred."

"Change of plans. Alfred was busy," he answered as he went to go get a glass of cold water. He cursed his pale complexion for being so useless against the heat; his cheeks were burning.


	2. Chapter 2

For Sweethearts Week on the UsXUk Community. I do need to practice my sappy fluff...

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"What do you think I should get her?" The teenage-looking boy had his shoulders drawn in, head tipped down and –from what Arthur could see- a severe blush spreading across his face and to his ears. He shuffled from foot to foot, looking ready to bolt out of the little store and drive far, far away before the bells above the door stopped ringing.

And perhaps it was the atmosphere of the holiday finally getting to him, but Arthur couldn't help comparing it to the way Alfred had looked when Arthur first informed him that yes, he might have had a little, insignificant crush on him.

Arthur could feel the crease in between his brows as he shot the boy a skeptical glance. "I'm a florist, not a mind reader." Too harsh, perhaps. Arthur felt a twinge of shame. "What do you think she'd like?" He tried again, gentler.

"Roses..." The boy finally lifted his face in Arthur's general direction, but with the unfocused gaze of someone daydreaming. "But black ones, maybe some daisies or those tiny little white flowers with that."

Arthur of course was always more than willing to go along with requests beyond the typical red roses. "That's doable. How many?"

The boy looked delighted, and left the store with a bounce in his step. It made Arthur miss his own boyfriend, but he wasn't paid to text Alfred, and the store would close in half an hour anyway.

The week leading up to Valentine's Day was always one of the more hectic in the year at the florist's shop Arthur worked at. As it was a weekday, orders spiked around five and lasted up until the shop closed at eight-thirty that night, with a few stragglers that Arthur had to turn down after pointing out the closing time.

For the most part, people were pleasant, but Arthur knew as Valentine's Day approached and continued to drag on and the supplies dwindled, tempers would fray. But that was tomorrow and Arthur decided he had had enough stress and exhaustion for the day.

Arthur closed up shop with Kiku, who smiled slightly at Arthur's enthusiasm in closing. It was normal of Arthur to do his best so he could go home and spend time with Alfred, as they were dating and had been for five years. He bid the man farewell as they went their separate ways, and got into the worn seat of his aging car. His phone vibrated once in the pocket of his jacket and Arthur smiled as he fished it out. As expected, Alfred had texted him exactly fifteen minutes after closing hour.

_I have cheap candy and lots of cookies left over from the party today. It's a great day, Artie :)_

He smiled fondly at the little glowing screen in the middle of an empty parking lot, or rather at the person behind the message.

_Alfred, it's your turn to make dinner tonight. I hope you aren't planning on just having candy, that's disgusting. _And you'll be sleeping on the couch, was what went unsaid but was still very much implied.

Less than a minute later, his phone buzzed again.

_What if I threw in a juice pouch too? Fruit punch, your favorite. And it's totally part of a healthy meal. :P Just kidding, I made dinner._

_Lovely, now stop texting me so I can actually get back home within the hour._

His phone rumbled as Alfred replied, but Arthur ignored it as he started the engine. He'd be home soon and with his boyfriend.

"Artie! You're home!" Alfred flung open the door before Arthur even reached for the key and dragged him into their shared apartment. "I bought some kettle corn before you came home, so we're totally having popcorn movie night today."

Arthur toed off his shoes and plastered a scowl on his face. "Yes, now get off and let's have dinner." Alfred let go for all of thirty seconds before wrapping one arm around his shoulders, just as Arthur knew he would.

Alfred had always loved the overly commercialized holiday like he did all of the others (and if Saint Patrick's Day wasn't a day to find an excuse to drink strange green beer, then what was?) –and Arthur always let him get away with it despite his harsh criticisms, because Alfred definitely didn't just wait around for Valentine's Day to roll around to show Arthur he cared.

So really, it wasn't at all a repayment or some obligation he had to suffer when Arthur let himself be led to their folding dinner table, covered in a checkered tarp that had seen years of duty as a picnic blanket. Two lights were set up on the table, which produced a flickering effect similar to that of candles, minus the potential fire hazard. A platter of somewhat crumbled sugar cookies frosted in pink-

("We had leftovers after the Valentine's Day party, so I took them home!"

"You bought too many on purpose!")

-and garnished with sprinkles sat next to green beans and the Chinese food Arthur knew Alfred had cooked himself. It appeared that Alfred had been serious about the juice pouches, because two sat down where others might put wine, not that either of them had any particular fondness for the stuff. (Fruit punch for Arthur, as promised, and grape for Alfred.)

"I would've made steak to go with the green beans but I didn't want to set up the grill today," Alfred explained sheepishly. "So it's just our usual scheduled Chinese food Fridays."

Arthur pulled out a chair for himself and Alfred and sat. "I think the setup's special enough, Alfred. It looks lovely."

Alfred grinned goofily as he sat down and tied the napkin around his neck. "Well if it's good enough for Artie than I must have done something pretty darn great, right?" He took the two juice pouches and punched their straws in before handing Arthur's back. (The occasions where they had juice pouches at their apartment was all too common, but after the first time when Arthur spent fifteen minutes trying to poke the damn straw through Alfred hadn't let him try again.)

"Cheers, Artie!" Alfred raised his pouch and looked at Arthur expectantly.

"Cheers, Alfred," Arthur raised his juice up to bump lightly against Alfred's, feeling ridiculous as he did so. He didn't mind, nor did he mind sending goofy grins back at Alfred over the dinner table.

After dinner, they migrated to the old couch Alfred had claimed from his parent's house and nestled in amongst the blankets and pillows, a bowl of kettle corn on the tea/coffee table in front of them and valentines spread out on their laps. Arthur had fond memories of that couch; it had been the setting of many a heated makeout session and countless nights of mindless channel surfing and infomercial criticizing, not to mention their movie nights.

"And this is the one Navya wrote!" Alfred proclaimed proudly as he showed Arthur the store-bought valentine, with a more personal message written in the steadying hand of a seven year old. "You remember Navya, right? Her handwriting's gotten a lot better since the beginning of the year..."

Arthur smiled too and settled more comfortably against Alfred's shoulder. "They've all improved tremendously."

"By the way, all of the kids loved the valentines from me and you, Artie." Alfred said. "I'm really glad you spent all that time with me making those things."

"I didn't help that much, Alfred. In the end it was you who wrote the messages and drew all of the pictures, I just helped with supplies and coloring."

Alfred laughed sheepishly. "I guess, but you helped make it so I could deliver them on time." He shifted his grip on Arthur as he gently moved the valentines aside to bring the kettle corn to rest on his lap. "Now then, horror or horror?"

Arthur gave Alfred his best scornful look. "Alfred, we'll already be spending the night together, so why don't we make this night easier on both of us so we can get the sleep we need?"

"You drive a very convincing argument, Artie. It's okay, I know you don't like horror, and I know tomorrow will be super busy." He poked Arthur's nose just to see his face scrunch up in response. "Maybe we should watch a documentary then, to put us to sleep faster." Arthur scowled and Alfred raised one kettle corn filled hand in surrender. "Kidding, kidding. Science documentaries can be pretty awesome."

"Are we going to watch a movie or not?" Arthur asked as he reached forward and popped a piece of kettle corn in his mouth.

"Just spending time with you is good enough," Alfred replied smoothly, easily as he looked at Arthur. Arthur blushed in embarrassment –not because he could still be flustered as if still in the honeymoon phase of dating, not that the idea was a bad thing- and adverted his gaze; he had given Alfred that opportunity. "But yeah, I rented a slice-of-life movie."

The warm atmosphere lulled the two to a state of near sleep as the movie drew to a close. Arthur stirred, and gently moved Alfred's arms so he could wriggle out of the blankets to stop the movie and turn the TV off. Alfred grumbled at the slight disturbance, which graduated to a full-out whine when Arthur begin to gently shake him back to the world of consciousness. "Come on Alfred, I can't carry you to the bed..."

Alfred's mumbled reply tickled against his neck, but eventually he was persuaded into leaving the comfort of the sofa.

Somehow by unspoken consensus, the two of them stumbled to their bedroom, Arthur tugging out the corners of the heavy comforter as he guided his boyfriend beneath and then joined him. Neither of them had brushed their teeth or washed their face, something Arthur was distantly aware of. But it was a minor thought easily brushed aside as Alfred wriggled forward; they ended up falling asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, lulled by their share warmth beneath the blankets.


	3. Chapter 3

Cut Losses

Anybody with an inkling of how the inner gears of the Spadian castle worked could attest to the mostly silent struggle in the upper echelons. Of the three ruling in the triumvirate, the Queen and King were chosen by the Timepiece clocks, while the Jack was chosen by the Spadian Deck.

The Jack, although often overlooked in the public eye, could mean the difference in the reign of the three sovereigns; there existed a long tradition of choosing Jacks to weaken the power of a king or queen deemed unfavorable, especially if the Jack threw their lot in with the preferred monarch.

With the current king hailing from common stock, the elitist Spadian Deck predictably chose a jack of noble stock to match the blue-blooded queen. The Wang family was old -even older than the Spadian throne- and jumped at the chance; a quiet exchange behind the scenes and the position was secured.

The Spadian Deck had made a grave error in their assumptions, however.

"Would you like to join me for tea, your Majesty?"

The current King of Spades whirled around rather inelegantly as if jostled out of his thoughts, an apologetic smile on his face. "I uh...the Queen...he shouldn't mind too much..."

("_I don't really like tea that much. Coffee's the drink for me!")_

Was that perhaps disappointment in his voice? The embarrassed flush pointed to a yes. Yao suppressed his smile and inclined his head. "Don't worry. I'm sure it can be arranged another time, ah? Go ahead, it wouldn't be good form to keep the Queen waiting."

With a grateful smile the king rushed off and Yao shook his head. A grave error indeed.

Kind of short but hey, I'm alive!


	4. Chapter 4

For those of you who keep up with me, I am alive and I am working. I'm very sorry for the wait, and I hope you all can continue to be patient with me! No excuses haha

more omegaverse i am so sorry

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He won't order today. Amelia's meal cost way more than a sandwich and tea had any right to, but Alfred had a princess to adore and treat right, even if her daddy screwed up and didn't back the fuck off from heat and too much alcohol. And really, the stories don't lie when they say that he can't even bring himself to regret a thing when his little girl smiles and squeals at the thought of a _real_ tea party, all posh like his princess deserves. It's probably for the best that Alfred doesn't like tea anyways.

A waiter brings Amelia's food and tea on a silver tray, and her pigtails bounce up and down with her movements as Alfred pours her a cup of tea in a pretty blue and white cup with flowers blooming around the rim. She chirps a thank you and smiles at the waiter sweetly, before letting out a quiet "ohhh" as she watches the fragrant steam curl up delicately from her meal. Alfred's stomach rumbles despite himself. Face scrunched, she carefully holds the cup in her hands with all the delicacy of picking up a bunny rabbit, gentle.

"You try some too, Daddy," she insists, and he scoots his chair closer so she doesn't have to lean across the table. Amelia cuts little squares off of her sandwich and feeds him little cubes off of the end of her fork, omega instinct to mother and make things peachy-keen strong even at her age.

Another waiter approaches their table. Alfred feels his face scrunch in confusion, even as the smell of food -more meaty than he would have expected out of a frumpy little place like this- hits him. He can see the grease from the fried egg stain the wax paper, and the melted cheese is fresh enough to still look almost liquid. "We didn't order that," he says, once the waiter sets the plate down at their table. God, what a terrible, terrible mistake to taunt him with.

The waiter flushes and scowls at him, bringing his eyebrows closer together -they're thick but cute, Alfred realizes, they bring attention to his pretty green eyes and oh god the waiter is cute. "I'm sorry?" Cute, accent, plateful of mouthwatering food. Alfred wonders if it's hot enough out to pass his growing blush off as the weather, or maybe the steam.

Alfred picks up the receipt and hopes to god the smell of food hides his interest in what he now knows to be a very cute omega waiter, who takes up the receipt and looks it over once, twice, before handing it back to him. He flushes again in embarrassment as he hands the receipt back to Alfred. "Well, I'm sorry about the mistake. Is it alright to leave this with you?"

"It's fine!" Amelia chirps, from where she had previously been preoccupied with her sandwich and not with the little drama playing out at their table.

"Right," he says, and congratulates himself on sounding collected and not falling apart like some alpha with their first crush. Well, in Alfred's case it was his second, but whatever. "That'll be fine." Alfred smiles at the waiter, who nods and collects the plate, before whisking off again to deal with the other customers during the rush hour.

Alfred tries not to bury his head in his arms when Amelia prods him excitedly. "Did you see that Daddy? He's like a fairy godmother," she whispers excitedly, and mostly Alfred agrees but he's also pretty sure that marrying the fairy godmother might also be a happily ever after, even if it wasn't exactly how the story went.


End file.
